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I have co-workers that seem to be getting away with a whole helluva lot of stuff lately and the culmination of their gettingawaywithit’s (shut-up spellcheck…) is just really starting to make me super bitter and pissy. It probably doesn’t help that my BFF is somewhat of a manager figure in their lives and uses me as a sounding board – but to be honest, I may have to ask her to stop, but my fear of her not telling ME these things, is that she will tell someone else that will not be as discreet as I am/have been – so I’d rather be the one that she comes to, but it’s wearing me out because at this point, I feel like I couldn’t do ANYTHING to get my ass fired that would be as bad as the bullshit I’m hearing about…not only that, but I’d never even test that theory because I’m awesome like that and I get paid a decent wage to do my job and don’t feel the need to test any of the powers-that-be.

There are other things too – like my relationship feels strained on my end with my BFF because of the way I see how she is or isn’t managing these people. I’m feeling really judgey – not in a catty way or in a way that I don’t want to see her succeed – it’s more of a disappointment, I guess, that she is allowing to be taken advantage of and allowing certain staff members to get away with certain behaviors that, in the real world, would get their asses pink-slipped.

I attempt to give her solid professional advice which I feel falls on deaf ears, which makes me just want to shut my fucking mouth and not say a word, but I want her to succeed and my feeling is that if she continues to be taken advantage of, at some point, someone who matters will catch wind of it and then it will reflect poorly on HER that she didn’t take a stand when these behaviors started showing their ugly heads.

I’m in a pickle here. I’m a very honest person. If I feel that I need to have a hard conversation with her about how she is being perceived, I have no issue with having that conversation. I can be very diplomatic and lady-like, if forced when I need to be. And how she is being perceived is not really up for debate – if these people saw her as an authority figure, they would not be testing the waters like this. Testing the waters is something one does when they want to see how far they can push a person. If these people had any respect for her position as their immediate supervisor, they would be courteous and do things like call her when they take a sick day, or not take a sick day every Monday or Friday, or do something as simple as listen to their voicemails so that when they call in sick and she has to cover their office while they are out, she doesn’t have 40-50 voicemails that need to be listened to and/or responded to.

Here’s a GREAT example:

Yesterday, one of the units in an apartment complex that my BFF supervises, caught on fire. A very sad and heartbreaking thing to happen – a woman lost her life and a little 5 year old boy was in critical condition with burns all over his body. No one else was hurt. Apparently, the manager of that complex, one of these co-workers I’m bitching about, had stayed home sick yesterday. So, my BFF got a call that there was a fire from one of the maintenance staff, so she dropped what she was doing and took off for the complex to do whatever she could at the property, since the manager was gone, apparently – because she hadn’t gotten that call in the morning to let her know that she was home sick. (See? I mean…) After things had settled down a bit she took a moment to text the manager to let her know what happened.

No response.

Like, if something like that had happened to the property I manage, my ass would have 1.) Called to let my boss know I was sick and couldn’t make it in – IN THE DAMN FIRST PLACE. 2.) Had I gotten notified that an emergency of this magnitude had occurred, I would have jumped out of bed, gotten dressed and went down there!!!!!!!!! I just would. And I bet if you thought about that for even 2 seconds, that would be your reaction as well.

So, more time passed throughout the day and my BFF texted again to let her know that someone had passed from the fire and a boy was burned badly and after awhile she got this message back:

Is the fire out?

FOUR WORDS. She never showed up to see if she could help…

In defense of this person, she is a very caring individual. I think some things are happening in her personal life that are causing her to not make some very good decisions. BUT IF NO ONE CALLS HER ON IT, SHE WILL CONTINUE DOING THIS BULLSHIT.

Anyway, I’m feeling burdened by all of this. It’s hard for me to take her seriously at all. Like…at. all. SEE?!?!?!?! I’m getting PISSY NOW! Gah! There’s more, but I need to keep that to myself and just end this rant here because it’s already too long and I’m sure I’ve bored you with this subject enough.

It happens against my will. It’s almost as if I get possessed. One minute I’m fine…the next I’m shooting daggers out of my eyes.

Usually, the first thing that I notice is people chewing their food noisily. At first, I’m able to control my twitchy eye. Breathing exercises work great. After that fails, though…all bets are off.

I drop little hints to those around me starting with that stare with the squinky eye. (Dear spellcheck…squinky IS a word…because I just made it up.) The offender usually senses this look…stops chewing for a moment, then says something like, “What?” to which I respond, “Oh…nothing…” hoping they get the hint. When that fails I go a little bit more passive-aggressive-aggressive.

It will typically escalate from there. Here are ways that I will attempt to drown out or get them to stop:

Turn on my music at my desk or turn on the TV.

When that doesn’t work, I’ll turn up the volume so that I drown out that god-forsaken sound from my head.

I remind myself that I love the person making this goddamned noise and sometimes that works…most of the time it does not.

Slamming of dishes ensues.

I will literally throw a fork onto my plate causing a scene making everyone nervous and occasionally they will leave the room.

Heavy sighs work the best, I’ve found. And if you accompany the squinky eye and the stare-down, the offender knows you mean business.

The final straw comes when I have had enough. Usually directed at my poor sweet husband or my BFF who both love me unconditionally and are the worst offenders. These two people love me DISPITE my shortcomings and weird quirks. I typically lose it completely.

The conversation will begin with the look. And my reactions exponentially get ballsy-er from there:

Blank stare while simultaneously freezing in place causing a silence in my general direction that is immediately noticed and the sense of being watched rather intensely is completely palpable.

They look in my direction, usually freezing in mid-chew. Let’s not forget, these people know me. They know exactly what this look means.

They say, “What?” – I say, “I’m literally going to stab you and to go prison if you don’t figure out how to chew more softly.” They say, “I’m just eating.” – I say, “Fine! YOU EAT AND I’LL GO LOOK FOR A KNIFE!”

They say, “You need to calm down.” – I say, “What would you like on your headstone? ‘Here lies Mr. Sassy, his wife murdered him because he wouldn’t chew softly and she fucking had had enough, already.'”*

In the end, I make my point. And a few days later, I feel really bad that I went so nutso about it – but SERIOUSLY.

* Don’t you fucking love it when you get to use “had had” in a sentence?! I do. Especially if it ends up on a head stone.

Have you ever read something and realized as you were reading it, that it is explaining exactly how you feel in certain situations? Well, that happened to me last night. The funny thing is, I never really realized what I have experienced had a name or that other people felt it and if I did, I never ever in a million years would have thought that it was something that described ME in any way. I mean…I’m not an idiot.

Thank you, Jennifer Lawson. “Furiously Happy” has opened my eyes to this feeling that takes over my life on certain occasions, and because of this, I feel slightly less strange, weird, psycho, closed-off, odd, scared and even a little alone. In this book of “essays” as it is described, lies a whole lot of truth. A whole lot of real-life hysterically terrifying ways that Jenny has dealt with her mental illness adventures. I say “adventures” because almost each chapter is a story in itself. She is refreshingly honest with her writing and makes the reader feel as though they are there with her ducked under a table or hidden in a bathroom stall or – beside her on the floor of her bedroom with “dead arms” trying to keep the cat from attacking her phone as she dictates the moment she woke up from her nap and the lack of circulation to her arms had caused her to be armless for what seems like an eternity and how she instinctively knew the moments leading up to that moment that morning had to be documented because it was literary GOLD. It’s no wonder that her book as been on the NY Times Bestseller list for 4 straight weeks. There is a desperate need for her voice in this world.

You see, I have a very bubbly personality – more so when I was younger, but at the ripe old age of 44, I’m finding that I still have, for the most part, my bubbliness in tact. I’m social. I like to hang out with my friends and do things and experience things…but sometimes…I’m the exact opposite. Sometimes, I don’t want to be around people or be in a crowd or mingle with people I don’t know. Sometimes the thought of meeting someone new just overwhelms the holy living shit out of me. It’s called “Anxiety”. And an even better term for what I’m self-diagnosing would be “Social Anxiety”.

I was once sent to a networking/marketing class – to learn to network for and market my parents business. What I didn’t realize, until after I got there, was that I was in a room full of artificial people that were all talking to each other, but they weren’t listening to each other. It was as if they were there for show, wanted something out of me – business, word of mouth exposure, me to think they were the most incredible person I had ever met – and there I was…just watching, from the corner. Sweaty. Feeling overwhelmed. Breathing heavily. Avoiding eye contact. Wanting to get the hell out of there as fast as humanly possible. But. I. Couldn’t. I was somewhat petrified. Frozen. Trapped. In this sweaty, hyperventilating state. Plus – I was with someone – a co-worker- who ate this shit up for breakfast. It was probably the longest day of my life. I hate networking.

I. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE. IT.

Another time when anxiety got the best of me was when I returned to my job after vacation and my boss had decided to change my job title without discussing it with me first – no real reason, but I went from an office job to working in a warehouse – apparently the person that they had take over for me while I was on vacation had rainbows flying out of her butt and her mother was a higher up and blammo – Sassy got kicked to the curb. There goes Sassy’s job. Meh – hindsight being what it is – it was for the best. BUT – when it was happening?! Holy shitballs, you guys…I thought I was losing my mind. I really went off the deep end. I walked out of the office to a corner of this huge 50,000 square foot warehouse, all by myself and just bawled my fucking eyes out, called my mom so that she could calm me down. The physical things that happened to me were something I had never experienced before as an adult. My hands started shaking, breathing was erratic, I felt really clammy but hot at the same time. I remember my hearing sort of turned off and there was a slight ringing in my ears. I knew that I was in a full panic attack – even though I hadn’t ever remembered having one before.

There have been other instances – mostly surrounding groups of people that are just really beautiful and thin and have their shit together – where I’ve just retreated to a place where no one else was, usually I was with my husband and just sort of disappeared to a corner or to a table far away from anyone else – typically this happens when I’m with my husbands co-workers at an event or something. I just don’t belong in a room with those people. It’s come to a point where I just really try not to be placed in those situations. If I’m going to hang out with those people, it’s gonna be on my turf, man.

We are throwing a Halloween party this Friday. At our house. My turf. I can totally handle this. You know why? BECAUSE IT’S MY DAMN HOUSE and I CAN GO TO MY ROOM AND SHUT THE DOOR AND HIDE WITH A COCKTAIL! But I won’t because I’m waaaaaaaaaay more comfortable in a controlled environment than I am on neutral ground. Plus, chances are, some asshole isn’t going to show up to my party unless they really want to spend time with me and on the flip-side of that, I don’t invite people I don’t want to spend time with so it’s really a perfect storm.

So, other than my abandonment issues (someday I’ll get into that) and my need for everyone to like me (although age has gotten me to a point where I realize that I really am not that much of a people pleaser anymore and hey, if you like me, awesome. If you don’t, meh…I’ll get over it – I have lots of friends that I love very deeply and who love me in return, so I’m cool, bro.), I’m pretty sure that this anxiety stuff is my only real issue. It doesn’t consume my entire life…but it has made things interesting at times. I’ve missed out on some things I may have otherwise enjoyed, but was crippled by my fear of being put into situations that I couldn’t just remove myself from if I felt the need to leave.

I’m writing to you from my God-forsaken desk, in my God-forsaken office. At work. I can’t get any actual work done because there are contractors over <— (there) installing new French doors and repairing some of the siding to our office that has been damaged due to the fact that this is WASHINGTON and there has been a water leak for who knows how long and they are using some God-forsaken power tools including, but not limited to:

Saws-All

Hammer

Nail gun (hooked up to the God-forsaken air compressor)

Pry bars

Electric Drill

Now, I’m not one to complain….BWAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! J/K, that’s pretty much all this damn blog is about! BUT I DIGRESS. So, I’m complaining….get over it.

I CANNOT DEAL WITH THIS RACKET!!!!!!!!!! A nail gun powered by an AIR COMPRESSOR IS LOUD AS FUCK, YOU GUYS! And, I mean, great for the guys working – because they get ear protection, but they are about 7 feet away from my desk and THWAAAAAAACK!!!!!!!! – hey, don’t worry about me, I. Am. Good. Yessirree. No big deal. Reading lips probably isn’t that hard to learn, right?

Oh, good…one of the guys just got a head beam to the forehead. I’ll be right back…

He’ll be fine. I have icepacks in the fridge. Thanks for your concern. What? I can’t hear what you’re saying…because HAMMER!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The workers are Russian, barely speak a LICK of English and the only Russian word I know is “Спасибо”! Which looks an awful lot like “ACHOO”, but it’s pronounced “Sbah-see-bah”, which means “Thank You”, apparently…at least that is what the owner of this contracting business told me it means. I should probably look that shit up on the Google Translate or something because I could be telling everyone something really obscene. I’ll be honest, I just looked up all of this on the internet and Спасибо looks nothing like “sbah-see-bah” so who the fuck knows what in the hell I’m saying.

It’s the 21st of the month y’all. If you haven’t paid your rent by now…when the fuck ARE you going to pay it?!

I called a lady today and told her that if she didn’t get her rent into me by the time I get here tomorrow – we have a night drop – that I was going to send her paperwork to the attorney for eviction.

You’re thinking to yourself, “Damn, Sassy…you’re a bitch!”

Yeah, well…here’s a little background. Previous managers here have apparently been letting this woman get away with this for QUITE some time…and it’s continued since I’ve managed here because, well…a precedence has been set. 48 times this woman has been late with her rent. FORTY-EIGHT. Let that sink in for a minute, you guys.

Like I said, I called her and said it had to be here tomorrow when I got here or her paperwork is being sent to the attorney. Which will incur legal fees, because evictions aren’t cheap.

She says to me, “But Sassy…can’t you help me out?”

No, I can’t. You told me first, that you’d pay it on the 11th. Then you told me you’d pay it on the 18th. Now you’re telling me you’re going to pay it on the 25th? I’ve helped you by giving you 21 days to pay your rent. I will not allow 22 days. If it’s not here when I get here in the morning, you will be sent for eviction. This has gone on long enough! (…extreeeeeeemely long pause of silence – if I learned anything, the art of winning a battle is the first person that breaks the silence loses. I rarely lose these stand-offs…)

So you’re not going to help me out, huh?

I’ve already helped you out – now you need to help me out. Pay your rent or move out. Period. (…more silence…I win.)

How long does this take?

The paperwork that the process server gives you will explain what you need to do. (more silence…I win again, bitches!)

So if I pay you Friday anyway, will you take it?

Not unless the attorney advises me to do so. There will be legal fees that will become part of your balance due.